Eventide
by Tulip Proudfoot
Summary: COMPLETE: Sam, Rose and 13-year old Elanor tend to an ill Uncle Frodo (based on Pretty Good Year AU which has threesomes and slash)
1. Elanor

Story title: "Eventide" Author: Tulip Proudfoot (i.e. Ensembles@compuserve.com)  
  
Chapter Rating: PG Timeframe: post 1491 S.R.; story based upon "Pretty Good Year" Please be warned that this story will quickly evolve into an "R" rating.  
  
Chapter 1: Elanor  
  
"But Mom....please? May I please stay here for a little while longer? I'm not sleepy. I can stay awake."  
  
"Elanor, you know it's already long past your bedtime," Rose gently ushered her eldest child out of the bedside chair. "And keep your voice down, please. You don't want to wake Uncle Frodo."  
  
"But Mom...What if Uncle Fo needs me?"  
  
"No buts about it, young lady," Rose sternly whispered and closed the bedroom door behind them. Mother and daughter stood in the darkened corridor. Elanor could see faint candlelight coming from the opened door to her own bedroom down the hallway.  
  
Uncle Frodo was ill. Very ill. He had been running a fever for four days now. Sam-Dad and Rose-Mom had sent the rest of the Gardner children to stay with Aunt Marigold and Uncle Tom so they could look after Elanor's beloved Uncle Fo. Elanor had finally convinced her parents that she would be an invaluable help to them. She was all of thirteen now, and could cook and clean and help out and... well...do whatever needed to be done for Uncle Fo. She was very grown up for a young hobbit-lass. She wouldn't be a bother at all! Not like the rest of her usually annoying brothers and sisters. She could help, couldn't she?  
  
After a bit of discussion, Sam-Dad and Rose-Mom agreed, but only if she did exactly as they instructed, and 'No grumbling about it either, young missy.' That was Mom. She always said things like that.  
  
But now Mom was tired and worried. So was Elanor, but she wouldn't admit it to her mother. Sam, Rose and Elanor were taking turns looking after Uncle Fo. Sleeping in shifts so that one of them was always awake and at Frodo's side at all times. Just in case. In case.... Well, Elanor didn't want to think about that. He would get better. He would. He had to. He always got better, didn't he?  
  
"Time for tired little lasses to get some sleep, sweetheart." Rose caressed her daughter's curls and steered her towards the bedroom Elanor shared with her two eldest sisters. Elanor yawned without realizing it. "I'll wake you up first thing in the morning," Rose continued.  
  
"But what if something happens during the night?" Elanor asked as she changed into her nightgown. She really wanted to stay in the little chair next to Uncle Fo, but had agreed to follow her parents' instructions. "You will come get me if something happens, won't you?"  
  
"I promise, sweet pea," Rose said, taking her daughter's discarded clothes and gently hanging them across the back of a chair. "Now go to sleep. You have to be fresh in the morning. It's your turn to cook breakfast, and I don't want my eggs burned like last time."  
  
"I didn't burn them on purpose," Elanor muttered as she sank into the large, lonesome bed.  
  
"I know," Rose said, and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "Uncle Frodo can be very naughty sometimes. Very distracting. Now go to sleep. I'll wake you if anything changes. And Sam-Dad is in our bedroom if you need him too."  
  
~~~~~~  
  
For convenience Sam and Rose declared the elder boys' room to be the sick room, since it was equidistant between the bathing room and the kitchen. It also had a nice view into the garden, which Sam insisted was an intrinsic part of helping Uncle Fo to recover. "Fresh air and fresh flowers enhance healing powers," Sam-Dad was fond of saying. But Elanor thought it would take a lot more than flowers and breezes to make Uncle Fo better this time.  
  
Frodo was having trouble keeping his food down. Everything he ate or drank came back up, no matter what Rose or Sam offered. Elanor couldn't count how many nightshirts and towels she had washed over the last three days. A lot. Far too many.  
  
Even Elanor could see that Uncle Frodo was in a lot of pain. She had seen his anniversary illnesses and knew about the shoulder wound and his sometimes strange behavior. But this pain seemed to be all over; not just the shoulder. Sam-Dad thought it was a combination of the poisons from the Morgul-blade and the spider bite, and maybe something else they didn't know about. In any case, Rose and Sam fretted as Frodo's fever increased daily. Today he kept falling in and out of consciousness; forever talking about walking and carrying things. When he did come to his senses, he would ask to hold the pendant Queen Arwen gave him. But Elanor couldn't see that it made much of a difference.  
  
Elanor was given the job of watching Frodo while Sam tended to some business and did another load of soiled bed clothes. Rose was sleeping the rest of the exhausted, having stayed up with Frodo for the past two nights. Frodo couldn't say much, as he was struggling to stay awake and aware. So Elanor decided to sing and read to him. To keep him company in the big, rather empty-feeling smial. And to keep his mind focused on something other than the pain and darkness. But the day was passing very slowly. He was growing weaker. Elanor wiped the perspiration from his fevered brow as the afternoon drifted towards sunset. She should be out playing with the rest of her friends. But her Uncle Frodo needed her. And she would do anything to help him get well again.  
  
The sun was about an hour away from setting when Sam came into the room. Elanor climbed down out of the bed to let her father get closer.  
  
Sam watched as Frodo shifted a little in his delirium. Elanor could hear her uncle muttering again.  
  
"How long has he been talking like this, Elly?" Sam gently asked.  
  
"Off and on the whole afternoon," she replied.  
  
Frodo's voice could be heard clearly now as his hands trembled and his feet twitched. "No. Too heavy. Too hot. Can't... No, Sam. Can't let it get to you, Sam. So hot. So heavy. Fire. It burns. It burns us."  
  
"I know, love," Sam crooned soothingly as he propped Frodo up against his chest and began to unbutton his soaked nightshirt. "We'll get you a nice, cool bath. That will put out the fire. And I won't touch it. I promise."  
  
Frodo's head lolled against Sam's sun-browned neck. "So hot... It's choking me." The faint whisper could barely be heard as Frodo mumbled into the rough homespun cloth of Sam's work shirt.  
  
"Elly?" Sam's voice rose a fraction as he addressed his daughter. "Get some clean bed clothes and tidy up the room while I give Uncle Frodo a bath."  
  
"Yes, Da," she replied, averting her eyes as her father lifted the pale naked form into his strong arms.  
  
"Oh, and bring me one of Uncle Frodo's clean nightshirts after that bed's been made." Sam left the room, carrying Frodo's limp form down the hallway and into the bathing room.  
  
Elanor could hear Frodo's voice from the bathing room. She concentrated on making up the bed, but was distracted by what she could hear. She could just make out hearing him ask Sam something.  
  
"No, no," Sam's gentle voice rose above the faint sounds of water splashing. "You didn't do anything rash at all. But we need to get some of Rose's good cooking in ta you before you can get stronger."  
  
"Oh, Sam." Elanor could hear Frodo's soft voice echoing faintly down the tiles in the hallway. "I do not think I can manage it. I'm sorry. But it never stays down long."  
  
"It'll never stay down if it don't get past your lips." That was Mother's voice. Evidently she had heard the splashing and decided to come help with the bathing. "I don't care if it comes back up. Sheets and clothes can always be washed. But you have to at least try."  
  
Elanor busied herself with straightening up the room after she delivered the fresh nightshirt to her mother. Clean sheets smelled so much better than the old ones. It was early evening and Elanor decided to open the windows to let the stale smells of sickness out to be replaced with the fresh, warm summer scents of flowers and new-mown hay. The last rays of the sun were peeking out a gaudy gold from behind red, pink and purple clouds.  
  
Elanor could see Sam-Dad bending over the bed as she returned from taking the soiled bed clothes to her mother for washing. Her father was tucking the covers around Frodo's legs. Frodo was propped up, reclining against a pile of pillows. One of the old green towels lay across the top pillow, protecting it from his still-damp greying curls.  
  
Frodo sighed and opened his eyes. Elanor could still see the fever within the weary blue orbs, but it had temporarily retreated thanks to the cool bath. Her uncle smiled faintly. "Thank you, Sam," he whispered.  
  
Sam smiled back and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Glad you're feeling better. I'm going to clean up and fix us a bit of supper. Elly can stay and keep you company, if you like."  
  
Frodo turned and smiled at Elanor. "Hello, Elly-elle. That would be nice."  
  
Sam placed the back of his work-worn hand on Frodo's forehead. He smiled and winked at Frodo. "Would you like some light?" Sam asked.  
  
"Not yet, Sam," Frodo said. "The sunset is lovely as is."  
  
"See you in a little bit then," Sam said as he exited the darkening room and pulled the door closed.  
  
"Would you like me to comb your hair, Uncle Fo?" Elanor asked. She climbed up onto the bed beside him.  
  
"No elaborate braids, mind you," Frodo gently teased.  
  
"No. Your hair's not quite long enough, though it's way too long compared to other gent's hairstyles," Elanor teased back as she gently untangled the damp locks. "Why do you keep your hair so long anyway, Uncle Fo?"  
  
He leaned forward slightly and moved his head to one side, exposing the back of his neck.  
  
"Oh," Elanor quietly mouthed; her hands suddenly stilled from their task. She had forgotten about the scar. The spider scar on the back of his neck. Even after all these years it was still hideous to look at. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I forgot."  
  
Her hands resumed their work as he eased himself back against the pillows. "That's all right, Elly," Frodo simply said, closing his eyes.  
  
Elanor scooted off the bed and put away the hairbrush and towel.  
  
"Elanor, would you please hand me my pendant?" Frodo quietly asked.  
  
She found it carefully coiled up on top of the chest-of-drawers. The silvery mithril chain slid through her slender fingers like liquid moonlight. Hanging from the chain was an exquisite pale pinkish-white jewel in a whiplash mithril setting. She handed the pendant to her uncle. He gazed at it for a moment before reverently kissing it with his lips, then placed it about his neck; the jewel settling on his thin chest as if it had always belonged there. He sighed slightly and Elanor could see some of the tension and pain slide from his shoulders.  
  
"Uncle Fo?" she said, "what makes that necklace special? It is magic?"  
  
"Well, maybe it has some magic, Elly-elle," Frodo said. "It is an Elvish pendant given to me by Queen Arwen, so it might have some of her magic in it."  
  
"Does it make you feel better?"  
  
"Not directly, sweetheart," Frodo said, "but it helps me remember what is true and what is important. And when you concentrate on what is true and important, your cares and pains somehow seem less."  
  
He removed the necklace and handed it to Elanor. She studied it intently. The room was getting too dark, so Elanor went over and threw back the curtains to let in the last rays of the sun. A stray sunbeam pierced the deep maroon and amber clouds, striking the center of the pendant in her hands. A million flashes of every color of the rainbow danced across the darkening shadows. Elanor gasped in surprise. "It's ... it's alive!"  
  
Frodo smiled as she came back to bedside and reverently handed it back to him. He held it in his hands, letting the slippery mithril chain dribble through the opening left by his missing finger, gazing into the depths of the gem.  
  
"What do you see when you look at it, Uncle Fo?"  
  
"It is not so much what I see, as what I am reminded of," he said as he again slipped the necklace over his head. "Queen Arwen's Elvish name is Undomiel, which means...?"  
  
"Evenstar." Elanor was quick with the response. She was beginning to study Elvish with Uncle Frodo before this current illness struck. She loved the sound of it. So musical. So magical. So mysterious. She also loved the fact that her Uncle Frodo was the only person in the Shire who could read and speak it. That made him extra special. And she so loved book-learning, despite what the rest of her friends thought about it. And she loved her Uncle Fo, too. Despite what her friends and their parents thought of him and the sometimes spiteful things they said about him. Sometimes she even secretly wished she was Frodo's daughter, and not Samwise Gamgee's eldest. But most of the time she was content with who she was.  
  
"Quite right, Elanor. Evenstar. And when I was in my most desperate moments during the Quest, it was the memory of the stars shinning above Bag End which stuck with me the longest. You see, my sweetest flower, the stars were placed into the sky by Elbereth the Blessed. They are her permanent beacon of light, beauty and hope to all of Arda. Nothing evil can ever touch the stars. There will always be beauty and truth all around you, even in your darkest hour, if you can but remember the stars."  
  
Frodo struggled to remove the covers. "Help me over to the chair by the window, please."  
  
Elanor steadied her uncle as he settled into an overstuffed armchair set by the West-facing window. He left his nightshirt open at the collar so he could have easy access to the jewel. Elanor brought over a colorful quilt depicting a summer garden, and wrapped it about his legs. The tiny embroidered canary-yellow butterflies so carefully stitched by Aunt Marigold looked like twins to the real ones dancing in the twilight breeze. Dusk had fallen, and a lone star shone above the horizon in the quickly- gathering darkness. Elanor could hear the cheerful sounds of gloaming: crickets chirping their love song; a bird trilling one final chorus from its nighttime perch; parents calling their errant children in for late supper.  
  
"Would you like me to light a candle, Uncle Fo?"  
  
"No thank you." It was a whisper. "But I think I could take a cup of tea. Would you be a dear and bring me some, please?"  
  
Elanor smiled. "Of course," she replied. Dear old Uncle Fo was always so polite. Except when he wasn't himself, and those times were becoming fewer and fewer. Elanor's heart sang for joy as she hurried down the darkened hallway. Uncle Fo was getting better! She only stopped for a second to light a wall sconce before bursting into the kitchen.  
  
"Mom!" But it wasn't Rose in the kitchen. It was Sam handling the cooking over the stove. "Oh! Dad! Guess what?" Elanor raced over to the stove and hugged Sam.  
  
"Easy, lass. Easy," Sam chuckled. "What?"  
  
"Uncle Fo's better!" she blurted out excitedly. "He's sitting up in the chair by the window. And he's asked for tea."  
  
Rose walked in from the washing room, toweling dry her wet arms. Even though her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, they were still sopping wet from doing laundry. "Wonderful news, Elly. Go ahead and get the tea service set up and your father can add some crumpets to the tray. Maybe we can convince some food to stay down this time, if Uncle Frodo is feeling better."  
  
The combined Baggins-Gamgee-Cotton household had several tea services. Elanor chose the most elegant silver tea service from the china cabinet. It had belonged to the Baggins family ever since time began, and Elanor thought it was the loveliest work of art in the whole smial. She carefully selected a matching fine china tea cup and saucer to go on the tray, and brought over the honey and cream. Sam had already filled the tea pot with boiling water and Frodo's favorite black tea and cinnamon mixture. Rose set a small plate with a selection of fresh-baked golden-brown crumpets, a creamy yellow pat of butter, and strawberry and blackberry jams on the tray. Elanor added a silver teaspoon and butter knife, then picked up the heavy tray.  
  
"Try to not overwhelm him, Elly-elle," Sam good-naturedly teased as he continued to stir the chunks of meat sizzling in the hot pan.  
  
Elanor wanted to add a fresh flower in a crystal vase to the tray, but it was already overburdened with goodies as it was. She crept down the dimly lighted hallway, silent as only a hobbit can be. She was careful to not jiggle the tea service and give away her presence. As she reached the open bedroom door, she froze in wonder at the sight.  
  
He sat in the chair as before, bathed in faint starlight filtering into the dark room. The quilt was still wrapped about his legs. He was leaning back into the comfort of the padded chair, facing slightly towards the open window. A gentle night breeze made the untied curtains sway in and out of shadows. His eyes were closed and his breathing easy. He seemed to be asleep, the pinkish-white gem at his chest gleaming quietly as it feasted on the new starlight. What made Elanor stop was Frodo himself. He was... he was ...  
  
She was suddenly afraid. She set the tea service down on the floor, turned, and fled back to the safety and familiarity of the kitchen.  
  
"Mom! Dad!"  
  
Sam quickly put down the plate of steaming meat and gathered his distraught daughter into his strong arms. "What is it Elanor?"  
  
"It's Uncle Fo!"  
  
Rose started to run from the kitchen towards the bedroom, but Elanor stopped her. "Mom! Don't wake him."  
  
"Is he all right, Elanor?" Rose sternly asked.  
  
"He's ... he's asleep, I think," Elanor said, "but... he's ... I don't want to go in there alone."  
  
"What's the matter, Elanor?" Sam asked. "What is Mister Frodo doing?"  
  
"I'm going in there!" Rose flatly stated.  
  
Sam restrained her with a gentle touch. "Let's hear what Elly says first, Rose-love. Now Elanor, why are you afraid to go into the room?"  
  
Elanor looked at the floor in shame, her delicately pointed ears turning red. "You're not going to believe me," she whispered.  
  
"Try me," Rose said, crossing her arms.  
  
"Uncle Fo's ... well...." Elanor shuffled her feet. "He's glowing."  
  
Rose's right eyebrow raised as she looked at Sam. Sam sighed, realizing he had been holding his breath against bad news. He briefly nodded towards Rose prior to kneeling before his frightened daughter. "I believe you, Elly. I truly do." He raised her chin with his hand. "I've seen it before too."  
  
"What are you talking about, Sam?" Rose frowned.  
  
"Daddy?" Elanor asked, "is Uncle Fo a ghost now?" Her voice quivered with tears.  
  
"No, sweetheart," Sam gently said. "Uncle Frodo's quite real and alive, I assure you. I've seen him this way twice now. Calm yourself and come with me and I'll explain." He stood and turned to Rose. "We'll be back in a minute or two. Would you mind holding dinner for a bit?"  
  
Sam took Elanor by the hand and led her back down the hallway as Rose turned to putting their dinner back into the oven to warm. They stopped in the glow of the sole wall candle beside Elanor's bedroom.  
  
"Now, don't mention the glowing to Uncle Frodo," Sam said. "He doesn't know he does it, and I really don't want him or anyone else to know about it. I'll talk to your mother later on."  
  
"But what is it, Daddy?" Elanor whispered as Sam retrieved the candle.  
  
"Well, sweetheart, I can't say for certain exactly what it is, but I can tell you what I think it is." Sam slowed down as they neared the bend in the hallway leading to the sickroom. "I first noticed it when we were in Rivendale after Uncle Frodo's first wounding. I had seen this sort of glow around the Elves when they sometimes reveal their true nature. Like when Lord Glorfindel went after the Black Riders. After Lord Elrond did surgery on Mister Frodo, well... Frodo sort of took on that look too. But only in certain lights. Usually only by starlight."  
  
"That's it!" Elanor eagerly interrupted. "I had the curtains thrown back and saw Uncle Fo sitting in his chair by the window. The Evenstar is out tonight."  
  
"Was he wearing his jewel from Queen Arwen?" Sam asked.  
  
"Yes!" Elanor said. "But why does he glow?"  
  
Sam paused for a moment before replying. "I'm going to tell you something very hard for me to talk about, Elly. But I think you are old enough to understand some of this." He stood in silence for a moment before continuing. "I've thought about this for a long time, Elly, and never told no one. Not even your mother. But you've seen it, so now I think I best be telling you. I believe we are catching a glimpse of Mister Frodo's soul," Sam whispered. "You see, I believe most people hold their mortality too close to their hearts so that their true nature cannot be seen. It's a rare individual who can see another person's aura – that's the glow from their soul. And Mister Frodo ... ah, Frodo..."  
  
Elanor could see her father's expression soften in the candlelight. "Mister Frodo's probably the only non-Elf I've ever known whose soul is so pure and so exposed that it is actually visible to others who have the gift of sight. But remember, he himself is not aware of it."  
  
Sam turned and made Elanor look him in the eye. "And we'll never tell him we saw it. Will we, Elanor? It's very important you keep this to yourself. That you don't tell any of your brothers or sisters or cousins or friends. That you never speak of it to anyone. Do you understand, Elanor?"  
  
"Not really, Daddy," Elanor solemnly whispered.  
  
"Truthfully spoken, lass," Sam smiled. "Well, I don't fully understand it either. But we will never, ever, mention it to Uncle Frodo," Sam continued. "He doesn't know about it. And should he ever find out, he might feel even more strange and out-of-place than he does now. And we're trying desperately to make him feel and understand our love. Our need for him. Our need to keep him here with us. We're trying very hard to make things normal for him. Do you understand that, Elanor?"  
  
She nodded. That was something she could understand.  
  
"Good." Sam kissed his all-too-grownup daughter on the top of her golden curls. "Now, get the tea service and we'll go in."  
  
Sam extinguished the candle as he and Elanor rounded the last bend in the hallway which separated them from the sickroom. Elanor's eyes were as wide as the platter she was carrying – trying to see if what she thought she saw was true. There sat Frodo in his chair. He was awake now and gazing out the window at the star-filled sky. Sam could see a trace of tears staining his pale face. In deed, it seemed to Sam's eyes that Frodo glowed faintly with an inner beauty more akin to the Eldar than to the Edain.  
  
Sam lightly rapped at the door. "I believe you ordered tea, sir?"  
  
Frodo blinked back into himself, and the glow seemed to fade back into normal starlight. "Did you bring a candle, Sam?"  
  
"I didn't think we needed one, but I'll go get one now," Sam nonchalantly said and exited.  
  
Elanor smiled slightly and set the tea service on the table beside the window, then sat down beside her uncle. She was glad it was dark. It would hide her nervousness. "If you feel like it, would you teach me some more Elvish tomorrow, Uncle Fo?" she asked, trying to get her mind off the strangeness she had witnessed. Trying to sound normal. But she didn't think she knew what normal was anymore. 


	2. Sam

Author's Note: If you have not read the stories in the "Pretty Good Year" series by Mary Borsellino, hie thee there and take a read. I can't seem to get fanfiction.net to let me insert the URL here in these Author's Notes, so if you want the URL, please email me and I'll send it to you. Be warned...this is an adult-oriented site. Basic premise, for those who have not read it yet: Frodo decides to stay with Rose and Sam at Bag End, rather than take the ship to the West. They form a "hobbit heap" (i.e. three or more consenting adults in a sexual relationship). My story assumes you know this...so... here is your slash (Frodo/Sam) warning. However, this chapter only alludes to this.  
  
Chapter 2: Sam Chapter rating: PG-13  
  
Sam reentered the kitchen after bringing Frodo the candle. Rose stood beside the stove, wiping her hands on a little flowered apron. He could read the unasked question in her tired brown eyes. See it in the way the muscles of her shoulders bunched and how her normally-clear brow creased with worry. Feel it in the tense air between them.  
  
They did not keep secrets from each other. They never had. Even as far back as when they were children and Rose would come visit Bag End for her reading lessons, she and Sam never kept any secrets from each other. It never crossed their minds to do so. And now he would have to tell her. Sam didn't think she would understand, but he owed her an explanation never the less.  
  
"He's all right," Sam said, striding over to hug his wife. "Look's like the cold bath did the trick with the fever. He's awake and alert. Elly's all right too. She's in there with him now, serving tea."  
  
Rose ran her hand through Sam's sandy-brown curls. "What's all this nonsense about Frodo glowing?"  
  
Sam kissed her full on the lips. As they separated he replied. "T'aint nonsense, Rosie."  
  
"Samwise Gamgee. People don't glow, and that's a fact." Rose was beginning to get irritated now. "Don't you tell me fairy stories like you and Frodo tell the children."  
  
Sam sat down at the dinner table and sighed. Rose sat down beside him and put her hands in her lap. He turned his head to look her in the eyes. "I'm not making this up, Rose. There are times when I've seen a faint glow around Frodo. Or maybe it comes from within him. I don't know. But I do know that it's not a trick of the lights. Nor is it something I'm making up in my own head. Others have seen it too. Gandalf saw it. So did the elves at Rivendale. Lord Elrond, in particular. And I think King Strider saw it when the two of us were recovering in Ithilien after doing our business at the fiery mountain. I'm not making it up, and neither is Elanor. She wouldn't make up something like that."  
  
"Maybe it was just the moonlight reflecting off his jewel," Rose said. "You know how excited she's been lately. She probably mistook ..."  
  
"She didn't mistake anything," Sam interrupted. "It's real, Rose. As real as me sitting here beside you. As real as him getting sick. Oh, it's real all right."  
  
"Well, if it's so real why haven't I ever seen it then?" Rose asked. "We've lived together for over fourteen years now. We've shared the same bed for almost as long. I know him almost as well as I know you. I've seen him sick. Hurt. Confused. Out of him mind. Sorrowful. Happy. Aroused. Asleep. Lost in work. I've seen him pale and shivering with cold. I've seen him sunburnt. I've seen him naked and fully-clothed. But I've never seen him glow."  
  
"And I hope you never will," Sam said.  
  
"That is not funny, Samwise Gamgee," she said. "First you tell me Elanor's seeing him glowing. Then you say you've seen him glowing. But I'm not supposed to see it? Make up your fickle mind."  
  
Sam sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Rose... I ..."  
  
"No," she interrupted. "I don't want to hear it. I'm tired. I'm going to go see for myself." She abruptly stood and removed the apron. "Your dinner's in the oven."  
  
"Wait!" Sam grabbed her hand. "Before you go see him, promise me something. Don't mention this to either Mister Frodo or to Elanor. I've taken care of Elanor. It's terribly important, Rosie, that Frodo not know about it."  
  
"Why?" she flatly asked.  
  
"You know how close we came to loosing him to the Elves back when Elanor was born," Sam said. "He was ready to leave Bag End and go with them on their grey ship across the sea. And you want to know why he was so willing to leave?" Sam could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Because he felt he was so changed. So different. So 'not normal' or 'queer' like rude folk round here say. He didn't fit in no more, and he knew it."  
  
Sam stood and hugged Rose fiercely to himself.  
  
"The only time I've seen him glowing is just after he's decided to come back from death," Sam whispered. "Stars, I hope I never see it again, 'cause that would mean he's almost died again. I didn't think this time was that serious, but..."  
  
He couldn't help himself. He began to cry. Tears sprang from his eyes as if a dam had burst. Rose gathered him into her arms, comforting him as she would have one of the children.  
  
"Shush now. Shush. Oh Sam. It will be all right." Rose could feel the hot tears on her bare neck. She gently rocked him back and forth as they stood intertwined in a fierce embrace. "Shush my dearest. Mustn't let Elanor hear."  
  
Sam managed to get himself under control, but he continued to hold fast to his emotional support. For Rose was his anchor. The rock upon which the entire combined family depended. "Ah, Rose," he finally whispered, "I didn't realize how much I've been holding that inside. I didn't know he was that sick. I ... I didn't know! But then Elly came in like that, and ... Well, I thought we had lost him for good."  
  
"Sam?" Rose said, "what does the glowing have to do with Frodo being sick?"  
  
"Oh Rose," Sam sighed, "no one ever told me this straight out, but I think Frodo can choose when he's going to die. And that cursed THING he had to carry, changed him. It hurt him terribly. I think it planted something deep inside him which is still trying to kill him. And it will take him any chance it can get. All Frodo has to do is let go for a little bit. Then... poof... he's gone and it's finally had its revenge. The two times I've seen that glow on him are right after he's decided to not follow the path to death. Somehow he found a reason to hang on. He's made a conscious decision to stay here. And that's when his soul becomes visible. That's the glow, Rosie. We're seeing his soul shine through. And I don't want to see it. 'Cause that means he's almost died again.  
  
"I didn't want to frighten Elly more than she'd already been, so I only told her a little bit of what I just told you." Sam sat down abruptly. "I hope I never see it again, beautiful as it is. Moon and stars, he's been through so much."  
  
Sam propped his elbows on the polished wooden table and cradled his head in his hands. It was too much for him. So many things he couldn't get out of his head.  
  
"He didn't always look like this," he whispered. Rose came behind and began to massage Sam's tight shoulders. "I remember when he was healthy. Do you remember him, Rose? Before him and me and Mister Merry and Mister Pippin left for the War?"  
  
Rose didn't answer, but patted him on the side of his arms. She let Sam continue talking. He needed to voice his concerns and frustrations.  
  
"Mister Frodo was full of life and fun back before the quest," Sam continued to talk into his hands. "Oh, most folk thought him too serious and studious for their tastes. But I knew him as a rather carefree hobbit, despite him carrying around the tragedy of his parents early death. I mean, I think he did well even before he came here to live with old Mister Bilbo. He had color in his cheeks back then. And he was a good dancer."  
  
Sam looked up at Rose. "Do you remember his dancing?"  
  
She smiled, nodded and continued to massage his back. "He had a nice voice too," she quietly said.  
  
"Yes." Sam's eyes softened with remembered good times. "Sang well and often. Him and me frequented the inns on the weekends. But I guess you knew that."  
  
Rose bent down and kissed him on the cheek. "If I remember correctly, you two were always at the Green Dragon on Friday nights."  
  
Sam smiled crookedly. "Yes. I knew this comely lass who worked behind the bar there. A right looker, she was. Gay ribbons in her pretty golden hair. Always a smile for us whether we was coming in or goin' out. I think Mister Frodo didn't mind the view either."  
  
"Whatever happened to this comely lass?" Rose whispered, then bent down and nibbled at Sam's ear.  
  
"Ah, the usual thing which happens to comely lasses round here," Sam teased. "She went and got herself married and had a bunch o' kids."  
  
Rose's massage turned to playful, but hard, hand chops about the shoulders. Sam laughed, and in one smooth motion, got up out of his seat and had her by both wrists.  
  
"You didn't let me finish the story," he grinned and kissed her. She was wonderful. He let go of her wrists, which promptly moved around him to pull him closer. Saucy and lithesome, Rose pressed herself into his embrace, demanding and receiving his mouth. She tasted so good! The taste of Rose. Like nothing else in the world. Except for Frodo's mouth. Different from Frodo. But just as magical. And she was his. His and Frodo's. He still couldn't believe his good fortune, even after all these years.  
  
The kiss finally ended, and Sam held his bride of fourteen years in his arms, letting a finger gently tease one of Rose's nipples. "That lass I was talking about?"  
  
Rose nodded and muttered an encouraging, "Ummm???"  
  
"She's a very clever lass. She took two rather messed-up hobbits and created the happiest family in the whole world," he tenderly said. "There's nothing in the world more precious to me than the three of us, unless it's the children. And I don't want to do anything to jeopardize this family. If it means us keeping this little glowing thing a secret from Frodo, then we'll do it."  
  
Rose nodded solemnly. She could tell Sam was dead serious.  
  
"I don't want Frodo to know that I've seen him glowing," Sam continued. "It would ruin everything you and I have been trying to do for him. This careful wall of normalcy we've built for him – this castle of safety and love – this family - would come crashing down. And he would leave."  
  
Sam held her hands still. "I know he would leave."  
  
"Mom?"  
  
Sam and Rose turned. Elanor stood at the door.  
  
"Uncle Frodo wants to see you." 


	3. Rose

Chapter 3: Rose Chapter rating: R (sexuality)  
  
"It's getting late, Sam," Rose said. "I'll stay with him tonight. You and Elly go ahead and eat supper and then go on to bed. I'll see you both in the morning."  
  
Sam went over to the oven and retrieved their supper. It was a little bit dry from the delay, but still eatable. Rose made herself a small plate to take with her, then added an extra serving of mashed potatoes and a soft- boiled egg. Sam handed her a second napkin and gave her a kiss as she headed down to the sickroom.  
  
Frodo was still seated in the easy chair by the window in exactly the same position as Elanor had described. The little honeycomb candle cast stark shadows across the boy's room. But Frodo did not glow. He simply looked tired.  
  
Rose felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her heart. She suddenly realized she had dreaded going into the room. What if she did see him glow? What would she do? She did not know. 'Thank goodness I don't have to make that decision,' she thought. Rose forced a smile to her lips and entered.  
  
"I see Elly's been at your hair again."  
  
Frodo smiled a greeting as Rose set the tray down on the wide windowsill. He rolled his eyes towards his forehead. "What has she done to it this time?"  
  
"She's tried to get it to part on one side, like all the young lads down in Hobbiton do now-a-days," Rose said. "Can't say as she's been entirely successful, though." Rose finger-combed his soft grey curls. "Your hair has a mind of its own." She smiled as the curls found their accustomed paths. He looked much more relaxed now that his hair was tousled the way it should have been. Rose didn't like trying to force things into shapes which weren't part of their nature. This applied even to hair styles.  
  
"I've brought us some supper." She sat in the little wooden chair beside him and put the clean napkin in his lap.  
  
"I've managed to keep the tea and a crumpet down," he said, "but don't expect me to be successful with that meat pie."  
  
"Don't be silly," Rose smirked. "That's my supper. I've a nice bit of mashed potatoes and a soft-boiled egg for the Master of Bag End."  
  
"I feel like the Invalid of Bywater right now."  
  
"That means you're feeling better," Rose merrily replied. "Now eat your egg, or do I have to spoon-feed you like I do Daisy and Sammie?"  
  
Rose was relieved to see Frodo finally eating something solid. She noted the dark circles under his eyes. The hollowness of his cheeks and around his throat. How thin he was. It broke her heart but she said nothing. Her greatest desire was to see him to 'fill out' again. To be a normal hobbit with good, solid hobbit meat on his too fragile bones. With a little more coaxing Rose cajoled Frodo into eating the entire egg, even though he could not finish the potatoes. When he was done, Rose removed the dishes and sat on the floor at his feet, her head in his lap and her arms wrapped about the quilt across his legs. As Frodo absentmindedly stroked her hair, memories stirred by Sam's emotional outburst in the kitchen flooded into her mind.  
  
Rose couldn't help but notice the handsome older hobbit when she was growing up. Frodo tended to socialize with much younger hobbits than those of his own age. Consequently, she was occasionally included in social events where he was present. It was obvious that he loved his cousins Merry and Pippin, and was close friends with Fatty Bolger. And despite the Gaffer's objections, Frodo was more than socially friendly with Samwise Gamgee, his gardener.  
  
Rose remembered feeling flushes of forbidden desire rise in her whenever she was allowed to go to Bag End to 'learn her letters and numbers.' She first started doing so under the tutelage of kindly old Mister Bilbo Baggins, but soon the task of Samwise and Rose's education was handed over to Frodo. He never seemed to mind.  
  
Rose had a hard time concentrating on the letters whenever she was alone in the room with Frodo. He was so exotic! Such pale skin and dark hair and robin's egg blue eyes. Subject of Bywater rumor in more ways than one. And she was faintly ashamed to admit her attraction to the new Master of Bag End. After all, he was so much older than she, even if he did not look it. Why, he was almost old enough to be her father. And they were of such different social settings. She was the daughter of a working-class country farmer. He was Master of Bag End and inheritor of the wealth of the Baggins family.  
  
Lily Cotton guessed at her daughter's infatuation and strongly disapproved. Surely young Master Baggins would eventually settle down with some high- society hobbitess and raise an heir. This sort of infatuation with young Master Baggins was very unseemly. Not at all proper. And so Rose always thought Frodo was unattainable. Or uninterested, if one believed half the East Farthing rumors about his sexual preferences. But that was not quite true. She was certain of that. More than once she caught him looking at her in 'that way' when he thought she was not aware. She was flattered and excited. Then she was ashamed.  
  
It was unfair. Unfair to Sam. And Rose loved Samwise Gamgee. With all her heart she loved him. She knew she would marry him some day. She just knew it. Even if Sam didn't know it. Rose knew it. He was everything she wanted. Well...almost everything. He was strong. And brave. And oh so polite. And he loved children and was good with them. He had a guaranteed job as the Bag End gardener. Sam was respected and solid like the good earth. He made her feel butterflies in her stomach, and courted her with the most beautiful flowers in the Shire. His smile alone could melt frozen pools. He helped the Cotton family with harvests and was friends with her brothers.  
  
Sam was shy, but when they finally did kiss, Rose instantly knew he knew how to please a lover. And Rose suspected Sam had learned from a master. From Frodo. Sam's touch could bring her past the point of infatuation and into full-blown passion. When he finally got up the nerve to kiss her fully, and take her into his arms for the first time...well! Rose smiled. She still became all wet and excited just remembering that first sensual embrace. Yes, Samwise Gamgee was exactly what Rose wanted. Almost.  
  
If she could only combine the familiarity, safety, warmth and comfort of Sam, with the exotic intelligence and sensuousness of Frodo – ah! What a life that would be! It didn't hurt matters either that Frodo was filthy rich with dragon gold. And so she sat and fantasized in the loneliness of her bedroom at night that long, long, terribly long year they were away.  
  
That was the worst year of her life. Between the rumors that the four young hobbits had been kidnapped by the Wizard, and the troubles with the nasty, brutish Big Folk coming in from the South, life was made difficult for Rose Cotton. Her mother didn't help either. She was always pressing Rose to forget about Sam Gamgee and marry one of the numerous suitors always coming over to the farm.  
  
Rose was miserable. She couldn't abandon Sam that way. Nor Mister Frodo. Sam would come back! He would! And so would Mister Frodo. There were many nights that year when Rose would run crying into her room after yet another argument with her mother. Dad was more apt to let his only daughter stop dating for a year, but Lily was dead-set against any delay. The only comfort Rose had during that terrible, lonely year lay in her imagination.  
  
Where were they? Were they all right? Did they have enough to eat? Were they hurt? Did Sam ever think about her? Did Frodo? Were they alone or with others?  
  
Rose's vivid imagination always saw Sam and Frodo as a unit – impossible to separate. And when she fantasized, she found she could no longer think of one without the other. Many nights Rose would lie in bed and ease her loneliness through comforting herself. If she closed her eyes and thought long enough and hard enough, her fingers seemed to be his fingers. Which "him" it was, was almost unimportant as she lay alone in the dark and stroked herself into oblivion. Sometimes she could even bring herself to climax and some form of tortured release; calling out a name into the safety of her feather pillow. Sometimes she called 'Sam.' Sometimes 'Frodo' slipped out into the ever-waiting pillowcase. Most times she couldn't even tell herself who it was she called for.  
  
She ended up masturbating with jumbled thoughts of the two of them in her head. The two had become inseparably one in her mind. Sam and Frodo. Frodo and Sam. She had almost given up hope when out of the blue they reappeared. Her wildest dreams were realized when they came back. But it was a dream not without a price to pay.  
  
Their Quest had changed them both. Sam had recovered. Frodo, however, was irreparably damaged. She knew he was changed from the War. She knew it in a way no one else in Middle Earth knew. She had finally birth his child. It had taken twelve years and two disastrous miscarriages to finally carry one of his children to term. It had been a torturous pregnancy, full of illness and depression; worry and pain. Yet also full of joy and hopefulness. The only person in Middle Earth who could give this grace to the Ringbearer. The gift of life out of emptiness.  
  
Rose knew the fact that carrying Sammie hadn't killed her was a miracle, and she blessed the Valar for this precious gift. She didn't think she would survive a second pregnancy fathered by Frodo, but she was willing to give her life to keep that possibility open. She never refused his advances. Not even when she knew she was fertile.  
  
Frodo's soft voice interrupted her reverie. "Would you help me back into bed, love?"  
  
Rose climbed to her feet, collecting the quilt. He needed a little help to stand and walk to the bed, but she was grateful he had that much strength. He was getting better. Elanor was right. Rose blew out the candle.  
  
Frodo climbed into the freshly-made bed, then asked Rose to join him. "This bed is so lonely without you and Sam."  
  
"I'm not sure we can both fit into Frodo-lad's bed," Rose said as she discarded her clothes and climbed in anyway. Rose and Sam slept nude. Sometimes Frodo did as well, but most nights he was too cold to go without a nightshirt.  
  
"I don't take up much room anymore," Frodo grimly jested.  
  
"Stop that sort of talk," Rose said. "You are besmirching my nursing skills. I'll have you fattened up in no time. Why, even Fatty Bolger will abdicate his title when he sees you after I'm done with you."  
  
Frodo snickered at the absurd thought. He lay on his left side. Rose spooned up as close to him as was physically possible, her round buttocks firmly pressed into the warm hollow of his groin. His extremities were always cold. She was usually too warm. It was the perfect way for both to find the comfort they sought.  
  
Frodo sighed in contentment and draped his arm over her waist, hand seeking and finding the tenderness of her breasts. Feather soft touches on her nipples, then fingers lightly trailing down across her tight abdomen and finally reaching the mound of soft, brown curls at her thighs. The hand never stopped its wandering journey up and down her belly in soft motions; sensuous like the ebb and flow of a moonlit tide.  
  
"You're going to have another baby, Rose-love," Frodo whispered.  
  
"How do you know when even I'm not sure yet?" Rose countered.  
  
Frodo remained silent, his hand gently stroking her belly. She could hear his steady breathing.  
  
"It's not as if I get much time off, what with being married to you two randy lads," she teased, stopping his hand from descending any lower, and rolling over to look him in the eye. "Come on. Tell me. This will be the eighth time you've let me know I was pregnant before I told either you or Sam. And it's the second time you've told me before I even knew it myself. How do you know?"  
  
"I... don't... know..." He stroked her naked shoulder. "Honestly, Rose, I don't know. It's not as if I can control it. I didn't used to be this way. But now... Well... The thought pops into my mind unannounced."  
  
"And you still won't let me tell Sam that you can do this," Rose whispered. "Why don't you tell Sam about this? It's been going on for years."  
  
Frodo moved his hand down from her shoulder, trailing his fingertips across the arch of her collarbone, up the sensitive skin of her neck and to her full lips. He lightly tapped her closed mouth with a forefinger. It reminded her of a child slyly indicating to a co-conspirator that silence was to be maintained. "No telling Sam. You promised."  
  
"Yes, yes, I promised a long time ago," she sighed. "But tell me why we're to not tell Sam about this?"  
  
Rose could barely make out his face in the night. But she could hear the sadness in Frodo's voice. "He already thinks of me as some strange being who is not entirely normal. And he's right. I don't want to add fuel to that fire."  
  
She felt his hand cup her face in a tender caress, his nimble clever fingers briefly toying with her hair. Her hand met his, and she kissed the open palm. He sighed and rolled over to lay on his back. Rose nestled her pillow up against his cold left shoulder, then moved into her accustomed position under his arm. Her own arm stretched out to lay on his narrow chest. She moved the covers up over them, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before settling in for the night.  
  
"I wouldn't want you any way other than the way you are," she whispered. But he was already asleep. 


	4. Marigold GamgeeCotton

Chapter 4: Marigold Gamgee-Cotton  
  
Chapter rating: PG-13 (language, adult themes)  
  
"Auntie Mari?"  
  
A soft child's voice whispered out of the darkness. Then she felt a tiny hand patting her arm under the covers. "Auntie Mari?"  
  
"Ugh," was all Marigold could manage to come out of her mouth. What unholy hour of the night was it? The child in question turned out to be little five-year-old Pippin. "What is it Pip?"  
  
"Hammie's wet the bed again."  
  
"Oh, sticklebacks," she grumbled, climbing out of bed and trying to not wake her husband, Tom. This morning was starting out the same way the past two mornings had; a small child crying in the dark for her to do something unpleasant. Chase away the trolls lurking under the beds. Or strip the sheets because someone had wet themselves. Or calm down a nightmare. She was never going to have a good night's sleep ever again, she was sure of it.  
  
The whole lot of them kept whining for "Mommie". That set little Daisy, who was only one and a half, into a crying fit. She was just starting potty training, and the disturbance of being uprooted from her familiar smial and being forced to share more crowded rooms with her older sisters had upset the youngster terribly. Potty training was forgotten in the uncertainty. So Marigold gritted her teeth, borrowed as many diapers from the neighbors as they could spare, and ended up elbow-deep in wash for at least three hours a day. How did Rose do it? How could her brother stand it?  
  
Between the washing and the constant cooking, Marigold had little room for comforting the children. Nor did she have the temperament for running such a large household. Stars and moons above! Where was all the food going? Baking cookies. Mashing potatoes. Frying eggs. She was sure the hoard of hungry mouths and outstretched hands would never end. How many were there? There were supposed to be eight children, but sometimes she was certain there were more. Marigold suspected Merry was sneaking over little Meli Took every once in awhile. Another mouth to feed. Another set of grimy hands to wash. Another child under foot. Switches and broomsticks! How was she to ever keep an eye out for all this trouble?  
  
"Auntie Mari? Goldie's into the blackberries again." Rose Gardner was supposed to be looking after her littlest sister, but here she was without her again. Didn't these children EVER do what they were told? What sort of household did her brother run?  
  
"Well, don't just tell me about it, child. Go get her out of the brambles and bring her back." Honestly. One would think the child had no brains. Acted more like a Bracegirdle than a Gamgee sometimes. 'Gardener,' Marigold mentally corrected herself. 'Gardener is what Sam and Rose call their brood.' Made a certain sense, considering Marigold didn't think Rose actually knew who the father to all her children was. Couldn't very well call the dark-haired, blue eyed Sammie a Gamgee, now could they? No. Baggins through and through. Even a Took could see that one! Pretty smart of Sam to call 'em all 'Gardener.' That way no one child's feelings would be hurt by having a different last name from their brothers and sisters. Even infant Sammie was called 'Gardener.'  
  
He was only 5 months old. Should have stayed with his mother to nurse. But no. Rose was too busy nursing that queer Frodo Baggins to even care for her own baby. It wasn't bad enough that Marigold had to look after Sam's seven children, but she had to look after that dark-haired Baggins bastard too. Sam sent over the two cows the household maintained for milk, and that also put a strain on the family. Now Tom had to get up each morning early and milk the cows. Bother the cows. That sister-in-law of hers was a cow. And a slut. Having more than one husband! And not even bothering to care about the gossip. So many children!  
  
Marigold threw another load of dirty children's' clothes into the wash basin and continued her scrubbing. She could hear high-pitched laughter coming from the other side of the hill. Soon the laughter turned to song. Rose, Merry and Pippin were singing an ancient song about rosies and falling down. Marigold couldn't help but smile. So innocent. So carefree. And they were hers. All hers. At least for the rest of the week.  
  
Marigold looked down at the four youngest children scattered like wildflowers about her feet. Baby Sammie slept contentedly in his basket, wrapped up in a soft worn baby blanket and protected from the blaze of the sun. He had one tiny fist stuffed into his mouth and was gnawing on his knuckles, teething even in his sleep. His older brother, Hamfast, sat beside the basket. Hammie had found a ladybug in the blades of grass near his aunt's feet, and was talking to the insect as if the little bug were his best friend. "Fly way home," he lisped. Hammie had just begun talking in full sentences. Goldilocks straddled the garden bench, holding her little sister, Daisy, in front. Goldie considered Daisy to be her own personal rag doll. Goldie was playing peek-a-boo with little Daisy, who chirped and laughed and drooled in pleasure at her sister's game. Marigold stopped washing for a moment to savor the beauty of the children, the day, and the love she suddenly felt.  
  
Oh, Marigold actually did love the little brats. After all, they were her nieces and nephews. Except the last one. The baby asleep in the basket. Anyone with eyes could tell he wasn't her brother's child. A bastard fathered by that bizarre Frodo Baggins. And Sam didn't even kick him out of the house! Not even when the whole Shire knew Sam was cuckolded. Imagine that. Good, old brother Sam acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world for his best friend to father a child by his own wife! Stars! To think his morals had sunk so low. Made her ashamed to be seen with the children. What would the neighbors think?  
  
"Want some help, Marigold?" Candy Smallburrows wandered through the gates and immediately started rinsing the soapy clothes in the fresh water basin. The pregnant hobbitess from next door was Marigold's best friend. This was her first pregnancy, and she could hardly keep her hands off the smallest children. "Sweetie-pie!" she cooed at Hamfast. "Come give me a hug, you cutie." Little Hamfast closed his chubby little fist around the ladybug and ran over for his hug.  
  
"Look what I got!" he excitedly said. He presented his treasure to the nice lady, carefully opening his hand for her to see. The ladybug took flight at the sudden return of its freedom. "Oh! Fly way home!"  
  
Candy laughed. "Yes, fly away home. Wave bye-bye, Hammie." She grabbed the basket of clean, wet clothes and took Hamfast by the hand. "Come on, my cupcake. Come help me hang laundry." She handed the child a basket full of wooden clothes pegs.  
  
"Me too!" Goldie cried, abandoning her little sister.  
  
"Oh, Candy, thank you so much!" Marigold smiled. "I haven't even started supper yet and it's getting late."  
  
"Here," Candy said, "let me finish the laundry and let you get inside. Looks like somebody could use a nap too." She nodded at Daisy who had fallen asleep on her stomach sucking her thumb, legs sprawling over each side of the bench.  
  
"I'll take these two little ones inside," Marigold said as she gathered the sleeping children in her arms. "Can you stay for supper?"  
  
"No, thanks," Candy called. "But I'll come over later and help tuck them all into bed, if you like."  
  
'You are a real gem among hobbits," Marigold said as she went inside to start supper.  
  
Supper was made. Tom and Frodo-lad came in from their day away from the smial. The other children were rounded up and cleaned. Supper was eaten. The children were again rounded up and cleaned. That's what her life had turned into. And endless parade of children needing to either be fed or cleaned. No time for herself. No time for Tom. Wizards and wonders! When did Rose ever have time to get pregnant? Or the desire to? 'If it was me, I'd be beating them off with a broomstick!' Marigold thought to herself. 'Must talk to Sam about that.'  
  
The night closed down upon the crowded smial, and sleepy heads nodded as Mrs. Smallburrows and Mrs. Gamgee-Cotton tucked the little ones into various beds and couches. After a round of good-night stories, Candy Smallburrows said her own goodnights and exited home.  
  
Tom was exhausted and was asleep almost as soon as the children. Marigold climbed into bed, muttering a silent prayer to the stars for a night's sleep without interruption. But it was not to be.  
  
A tiny soft hand patted hers in the darkness. Cripes! She had only just fallen asleep. "Oh... couldn't it wait till morning, Pippin?" she groaned.  
  
She regretted snapping at the youngster as soon as the words left her mouth and she realized he was crying softly. "Shush, darling. Come here. Let's go sit in the big rocking chair." She climbed out of bed and took the frightened child by the hand. Pippin was soon snuggled in her lap. She soothed his sobs while rocking back and forth. Back and forth. Hugging him tight. The sobs finally abated.  
  
"Now tell Auntie what's wrong."  
  
"I had a bad dream," Pippin sniffed.  
  
"And what was bad about the dream, sweetie?"  
  
"Uncle Fro was dead."  
  
"Oh, there now. There now, little boy. Shush. Such nonsense. Your Uncle Frodo isn't dead. Haven't you heard the stories about him and your Dad? Nothing seems able to kill the great Frodo Baggins."  
  
"But he's dying now," Pippin said to the darkness. "That's why Mom and Dad sent us away. So we won't catch it and all die too."  
  
"Oh, little Pip," Marigold's voice caught in her throat at hearing Pippin's understanding of the situation. "I don't think your Uncle Frodo is dying. He's sick. Mighty sick. And your mother and father and big sister Elanor are taking the very best care of him. But he needs quiet right now. That's why you little ones were sent here to stay with Uncle Tom and me. So Uncle Frodo could have some quiet."  
  
"I know Uncle Fro is sick," Pippin said. "He's sick all the time. Mommie and Daddy say he's sad or in one of his quiet moods, but I know he hurts." Pippin started sniffling. "He...he hurts all the time, Auntie Mari. Uncle Fro can't run and play outside with us like Mommie and Daddy can. He's always cold. And...and I don't want him to be sick. I want him all better." He buried his face into her soft bosoms and cried. "I...I don't wanna die like him," he muttered between sobs.  
  
Marigold's rocking intensified in an unconscious effort to rock away all the child's fears. She rubbed his back and shushed him until he finally had cried his tears to a standstill.  
  
"Pippin," Marigold calmly said, "you are a big boy now and I think you need to know the truth instead of making up things in your head which are not true." She stopped rocking and held him slightly away from her so that she could see his tear-swollen eyes. "Look at me, Pippin Gardener. We're all Gamgees, and Gamgees don't lie. So I'm not going to tell you something which is not true. Do you understand me?"  
  
He solemnly nodded, then settled back into the safety and comfort of her arms.  
  
"Neither you nor I truly know what it is that makes your Uncle Frodo sick," she quietly said. "But I don't think it's the type of sickness you can get from another person, like the mumps or the measles. You've had the measles, haven't you?"  
  
Pippin nodded and started to suck his thumb.  
  
"So Uncle Frodo can't pass along his sickness to you or to your mother or father or to any of your sisters or brothers. It's something he brought back with him from the War down South."  
  
"Why doesn't Daddy have the same sickness then? He went away with Uncle Fro, didn't he?"  
  
Marigold took up her rocking again. "Yes, your father went with Uncle Frodo away South. But your Uncle Frodo had to carry a magic ring. It was a very evil magic ring, and it must be the thing that hurt him. You see, Pippin, your Daddy didn't have to carry the ring. Well, he did carry it a little bit. But only for one day. Not for months like Frodo did. So your Daddy won't ever get the Ring sickness like Uncle Frodo. Now don't worry your little head, Pippin, my love. Your Sam-Dad and Rose-Mom won't get sick. Neither will Elanor or your or anyone else."  
  
"But I don't want Uncle Fro sick either," Pippin hiccupped a sob.  
  
Marigold retrieved a handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket and made him blow his nose. "Pippin Gardener, your Uncle Frodo is a very brave and kind hobbit. If he is meant to get well, then he will. Why, I've known him for years and years and years. I know for a fact that he is better now than when your Da and he returned from the War. They are both much stronger and happier now that they are back home where they belong. Back in the Shire with their kinfolk. Uncle Frodo gets better and better each year."  
  
Pippin's sniffles slowed and finally stopped.  
  
"And you want to know why I think he gets better each year?" Marigold whispered to her nephew.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because each year there are more children in Bag End," Marigold said. "And everyone knows that children are made from love. Every year there's more children and more love to share. More fun to do. More things to learn for the first time. More children to teach. More new experiences and joys. So he can't help but get better too. Now doesn't that make sense to you?"  
  
Pippin solemnly nodded. "We're made up of love?"  
  
"Yes, little duck," Marigold smiled and rocked him in her arms.  
  
"All children? Even the girls?" Pippin's soft voice betrayed his sleepiness.  
  
"Of course," Marigold smiled, finger-combing his tousled golden-brown curls. "Why, even little boys are made of love."  
  
"Even Sammie?" Pippin whispered as his heavy eyes closed and he drifted off into sleep in his aunt's arms.  
  
Marigold continued her rocking. "Yes, little duck," she sighed to the sleeping child. "Even Sammie." 


	5. Tom Cotton

Chapter 5: Tom Cotton  
  
It was six in the morning, and Tom Cotton was in the barn milking. Not exactly his favorite morning activity. Tom didn't mind it as much as his wife let on. After all, he was an early riser and originally from a farming family. But he had gotten soft and out-of-touch with a farming routine since he and Marigold moved into Hobbiton. He had forgotten how physically demanding milking was on a person's hands, and now they ached. He was more used to skilled labor such as leather work which was his current profession. That took a toll on your hands as well, but in a much different way.  
  
Tom sat down on the little three-legged stool and settled his cheek and shoulder against the rough warm coat of Ginny, the elder of the two milkers. She was an experienced cow, used to different hands having a go at her abundant utter. Rose always chose Ginny when introducing one of her brood to the barnyard animals. Kind, patient, good-natured Ginny. Never was cross or mean to the children, even when they bumped her or used a teat as a weapon for squirting milk at one of their unsuspecting siblings. She didn't even mind give up a squirt or two to the barn cats.  
  
Frodo-lad was out with his uncle, milking Splotchy, the second and much younger cow. Frodo-lad had been milking the family cows for three years now, getting up with his father before the sun showed her face across the Hill. Splotchy had been acquired only last March and she was still a bit skittish with a stranger. Frodo-lad let Splotchy's calf nuzzle up against his mother, providing the poor heifer some familiarity in the unfamiliar and much smaller barn. Neither hobbit said much as they tended to the work at hand.  
  
Since Frodo-lad was eleven, he was expected to follow along with his uncle and learn about the trades. All hobbit males of this age were sent around to various families to learn a trade. Or least be exposed to the variety of skills necessary to fit into hobbit life in the Shire. Sometimes the lad was loaned out to a family for a year or two as an apprentice, if the lad showed a real interest and aptitude for the profession. But Frodo Gardner was only just starting his years of tutoring in the trades. He actually had no idea what he wanted to do when he grew up. Uncle Fro told him to not worry about it, so he didn't.  
  
Tom wasn't that close to his numerous nephews and nieces, even though he liked them all well enough. He was always too busy with work to go along with the group family outings which his sister Rose loved so much. But he had a soft spot for Frodo-lad in his heart. Frodo looked so much like a combination of Gamgee and Cotton, it was as if Tom looked upon his and Marigold's own child. And Frodo was a kind, soft-spoken lad prone to thoughtfulness and well-considered actions. A steady, solid gentlehobbit in the making. Tom approved of that. If only Frodo were his son.  
  
Tom shook his head. 'No use dwellin' on might-have-beens,' he thought.  
  
"Uncle Tom?"  
  
Tom's halfway reverie was interrupted. "What?"  
  
"What day is it?" Frodo asked from behind the cow.  
  
"Tis Friday," Tom replied, renewing his efforts to complete the milking and get back inside his home for something to eat.  
  
"No...um...I mean, what day of the month is it?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Let's see now. I figure it's the fifteenth. Why?" Tom finished with Ginny and stood up, picking up the full milk pail.  
  
Frodo-lad's eyebrows knitted in concentration. "Well, it's...It's the day when Uncle Fro and I were supposed to make the rounds out to the Puddlifoot farm at Overhill. I know Uncle Fro was very keen on going out there today and taking me with him. But he can't. I don't know if I should do it for him or let it slide. Or maybe Dad should do it." Frodo also stood up with his full milk pail. "I'm unsure as to what to do."  
  
"First things first, me boy," Tom replied. "Let's finish up here, look to the animals, and then we'll take a few minutes to discuss it over second breakfast."  
  
Second breakfast was in chaos. Tom and Frodo walked through the back door of the house to find Marigold with her hands full tending to the smallest children. The older ones (Rose, Merry and Pippin) were left to fend for themselves. Tom snagged young Merry before he had a chance to run past his uncle and out of the kitchen with a handful of biscuits.  
  
"All of you! Sit down right now!" Tom bellowed as he spun Merry about and deposited him on the rough wooden bench on the close side of the table next to little Pippin. Merry returned the biscuits to the warming basket. Pippin quickly tried to swallow some toast with jam, and only managed to make a terrible mess all over his face and also at the place setting in front of him.  
  
Little Rose quickly put the plate of sizzling sausages down onto the table, then plunked herself onto the bench beside her two brothers. Frodo frowned suspiciously at his sister, who promptly stuck her tongue out at him and crossed her arms.  
  
"We will have order at this table!" Tom demanded.  
  
Pippin giggled, spewing toast and jam crumbs across the table. He thought that even more funny, until he saw the dark visages of his uncle and his eldest brother descend upon him full force. He clasped one hand over his mouth to stop his giggling fit, smearing blackberry jam across one cheek and even getting some on the tip of his nose.  
  
"Thank the stars you're here," Marigold sighed, one hand holding little Daisy balanced on one hip while the other hand continued to scramble a mountain of eggs. Hamfast and Goldilocks stood at her feet, both sucking their thumbs and clinging to either side of her skirt and apron. Little Sammie was again in his basket which was set atop the table next to the crisp fried bacon. His bright blue eyes were wide awake taking in everything going on within a few feet of his limited range of vision. He laughed and drooled at seeing Tom, his baby arms waving spasmodically in his own greeting.  
  
Once order was restored, the extended family settled into second breakfast in earnest. Rose and Merry were delegated clean up duty while Pippin was sent to take his second bath of the day. Marigold's friend and next-door neighbor, Mrs. Candy Smallborrows, had come by to help, so the smaller children were well-tended. Tom refilled his mug with tea and beckoned Frodo to follow him into the study. Tom closed the door to give them some much needed privacy.  
  
"Tell me again, lad, why it's so important for you to go to Overhill today," Tom said as he settled down into the comfortable leather chair.  
  
Frodo stood in the center of the round braided rag rug and clasped his hands behind his back. Tom had to suppress a sudden urge to chuckle. Frodo's mannerisms were exactly the same as his father's.  
  
Frodo cleared his throat. "Uncle Fro and I are supposed to go to the family farm at Overhill today and look in on Mrs. Puddlifoot."  
  
Tom was well aware that Frodo Baggins was training Frodo-lad to someday become the heir of Bag End and all its outlying properties. Tom knew that the Master of Bag End was a wealthy landowner and that entailed numerous responsibilities. Frodo Baggins' landholdings reached well into the North Farthing as well as the Bag End and Underhill estates. But Tom didn't know that Mr. Baggins had started including his namesake in some of the behind- the-scene workings of the estates. "Tell me, how long have you been accompanying your Uncle Frodo on his tours to the farms?"  
  
"This will be my third trip," Frodo said.  
  
"Well, you can see that this trip will have to be postponed," Tom said.  
  
Frodo looked distinctly uncomfortable, looking down at his toes and shifting from one foot to the other. "But...well...you see...I don't think you understand. We need to go visit Mrs. Puddlifoot today. Or at least somebody has to go see her today."  
  
"Why?" Tom asked.  
  
Frodo looked up in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Uncle Tom, but Uncle Fro told me to not discuss this outside the family."  
  
"I'm family, aren't I?" Tom snorted.  
  
"Yes! Certainly, Uncle Tom!" Frodo stammered. "I didn't mean it that way. I think Uncle Fro meant I wasn't to discuss it outside of my Dad or him or me."  
  
"Frodo," Tom gently said, "you've asked my advice on what to do. I can't give you advice unless you tell me the facts. Now, I'm sure your Uncle Frodo wouldn't mind you telling me under these special circumstances. After all, we're all related – Cottons, Gamgees and Bagginses."  
  
Frodo thought about it for a few seconds, then sat down on the side chair next to his uncle. "Each month we visit a different outlying property owned by Uncle Fro. I'm finding out there are many different farms, pastures and woodlands, and Uncle Fro visits a different one each month. He makes it a point to personally visit each one at least once a year to see for himself how the farm and the farmers are getting along. He likes to consult with them about planning for the next year. He talks with the share croppers and farm hands about the running of the businesses. But he told me he also does it to keep an eye out for potential trouble spots."  
  
"What do you do when you go out there?" Tom asked.  
  
"We survey the land on foot and check the record books which the farmers have to keep. But we also keep in touch with how the various hobbit families who work for the Bagginses are getting along. Uncle Fro tells me one not only takes care of the land, but also takes care of the people. He says that with great wealth comes great responsibilities. And someday I might be the Master of Bag End, so I have to learn how to do it properly.  
  
"This month we were to visit the Puddlifoots at the wheat farms in the Overhill area. Do you know them?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Yes," Tom replied. He knew the Puddlifoot from his childhood. "Old Farmer Puddlifoot and his wife are well on in years."  
  
"Right," said Frodo. "They did not have any children. But now it's just Mrs. Puddlifoot. Mr. P was ill for some time. As he became less and less able to take care of the farm, Uncle Fro hired helpers for him. But Mr. P died last month. And Mrs. P can't manage the farm by herself. I'm sure Uncle Fro has a plan for how to deal with the situation. But I don't know what the plan is. The one thing I'm certain of that that today is the day Widow Puddlifoot is expecting the Master of Bag End to visit. She doesn't know about Uncle Fro's illness. What should I do, Uncle Tom?"  
  
"Tell you what," Tom said, standing and pulling Frodo to his feet. "I'll send Rosie-lass into town to tell Mr. Brown I'm taking a day off work. I'll take you with me to Bag End. We'll ask Sam or Frodo what we should do."  
  
When the pair arrived at Bag End, Elanor greeted them at the door with a wide smile.  
  
"He's better!" Frodo exclaimed, hugging his sister and swinging her around on the steps of the doorway.  
  
"Yes!" Elanor said. "Uncle Tom! So good to see you. Please come in."  
  
"Can I see him?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Frodo-lad! Is that you I hear?" Tom could hear his brother-in-law's voice coming from the kitchen. Tom liked Samwise Gamgee, and not only because he was married to Tom's only sister. Tom had been Sam's friend for many, many years. When Sam was not tending the Bag End gardens, he was always over at the Cotton family farm when they were both lads. Any excuse for Sam to get his hands into the earth and learn more about growing things; and also any excuse to see Rosie Cotton and her brothers. Sam and Tom had spent many a summer and autumn harvest together in Farmer Cotton's fields and in the big barn. Tom knew Sam's heart belonged to the Shire from the ground up, and respected the Mayor all the more for his continued devotion to keeping the Shire as lush and beautiful and peaceful as was possible. Tom also knew that Sam's devotion to what he loved was absolute; and that included not only his sister, Rose, but also Mister Frodo Baggins.  
  
'Bit of an odd duck, our Samwise,' Tom thought. 'Never could see what he saw in Mister Baggins. But 'taint my business to be stickin' my nose in where it don't belong. And Rosie couldn't ask for a better husband and father. The Shire couldn't ask for a better Mayor, too.'  
  
The object of Tom's reflections came round the corner, wiping his wet hands on a tea towel. "Frodo-lad!" he bellowed, and engulfed his son in a bear hug. "Missed you mightily, me boy! Tom!" Tom was hugged equally tightly.  
  
"Where's Frodo, Sam?" Tom asked. "The lad and I need to speak with him, if he's up to having visitors."  
  
Sam's bright smile vanished. "He's in the living room. He can have visitors now, but not too long. And no excitement. No rough housing and no loud noises. Understand?"  
  
Tom and Frodo-lad found the Master of Bag End relaxing in an over-stuffed wing-backed armchair pulled next to the fireplace. He was reading a little book and sipping on a hot cut of something. It didn't smell like tea. Tom thought Frodo looked terrible; far too thin and pale for a normal hobbit his age. The clean white linen shirt and matched chocolate-colored breeches and waistcoat looked too loose on his frame. Frodo also had on a heather-colored sweater. Tom was relieved to find Mr. Baggins sitting comfortably, fully awake and in his right mind.  
  
"Tom. Tom Cotton. Good to see you. Please have a chair." Frodo gestured towards the couch opposite his chair, but did not get up. A warm smile spread across his face upon seeing young Frodo-lad. The youngster strode over to the chair and kissed his uncle on the cheek. Tom thought Frodo-lad would start crying at any moment, but he managed to control his emotions.  
  
"I've missed you too, my boy," Frodo said. His own voice was tight with emotion. Frodo-lad sat on the floor cross-legged at his uncle's feet. "I didn't expect you until tomorrow," Frodo said. "Rose said she would go collect everyone then. What brings you here early?"  
  
"It's the fifteenth," Frodo-lad said, looking up at his uncle.  
  
"Oh," was all that passed Frodo's lips. He looked from the youth to Tom and then back to Frodo-lad. "I can't go."  
  
"I know," Frodo-lad replied. "I can go if you tell me what to do."  
  
Tom tried to not look directly at either Frodo, but the elder caught his eye with his legendary keen gaze.  
  
"How much do you know, Tom?" Frodo quietly asked.  
  
Tom leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. "There's no blame on the lad. He only told me that the two of you need to go to Overhill today to do some business with Widow Puddlifoot. What that business is...he didn't say and I didn't ask. But I'll help you out in any way I can. I've taken the day off from work. If you want the boy and me to go over there and represent you, why I'll do that. Just tell us what to do."  
  
Frodo nodded his agreement to the proposal. "Let's go into my study. I need to write some instructions." Frodo-lad leapt to his feet, eager to help support his Uncle Fro stand and walk. "It's all right, my boy," Frodo chuckled. "I'm not that bad off any more. But please be a dear and bring my tea cup, would you?"  
  
Frodo-lad took a sniff and wrinkled his nose. "Ugh. That's not tea. What's in there? One of Mom's concoctions?"  
  
"It's beef tea, and some herbs your mother insists I need. She will kill me if I don't finish it off. She's trying to fatten me back up."  
  
They went into the study where Frodo sat at his desk and started to write. "Frodo-lad, give this to Mrs. Puddlifoot, but do so in private," he said. "She can't read, so you'll have to read it for her. I don't want anyone else in the room when you do so. This is extremely important. It concerns financial matters between her late husband and myself." Frodo turned to Tom. "Would you help out by keeping all the farm hands and idle curious occupied while Frodo does this business with Mrs. Puddlifoot?"  
  
"Sure," Tom replied.  
  
"I would also appreciate it if you take special note of how the wheat farm is doing under the new farmers. Is it well tended? Any tares or weeds in the wheat? Are the fences and lanes in good condition? Do the animals appear healthy and content? Talk with the Chillcots – that's Andwise and Amalda Chillcot. I hired them last year to work the Puddlifoot farm. Get a feel for how well the farm is doing, or if they've run into any problems." Frodo finished writing, folded the envelop, applied sealing wax to it, and handed it to Frodo-lad. "If she has any questions, tell her to come see me."  
  
Frodo turned again to Tom. "Now Tom, please don't tell anyone about what you're about to see." Frodo stood and placed his hand on his namesake's shoulder, guiding him to the large wooden chest to the left of the fireplace. "Unload the wood," he instructed.  
  
Underneath the woodpile Frodo-lad came upon a small chest with thick iron bands and a heavy iron padlock. Frodo handed the lad an ornate key. "Open it," was all he said.  
  
Tom gasped upon seeing the chest's contents. Bright gold, silver and copper coins stacked in neat piles gleamed in the morning sunlight. Frodo knelt down and removed a small ledger book, briefly writing something in it with a charcoal he had brought with him from the desk. He then selected several of each type of coin and slipped them into one of several non- descript brown leather pouches in the lockbox, drawing the string closure tight. He handed the coin purse to Frodo-lad.  
  
"Lock the chest and re-stack the wood, please."  
  
"Not a word, Tom," Frodo quietly said as Frodo-lad reassembled the woodpile. "Take the good carriage. Must maintain appearances. I'm sure Strider would welcome a bit of exercise." Frodo picked up his cup and took a long swallow of the broth.  
  
"Please let me know how everything goes," he said as they walked back into the living room. "And Tom," he said as he resumed his seat by the fire, "thank you so much. I know I can rely on your discretion in this family matter."  
  
As Tom and Frodo-lad turned to leave, Tom couldn't help but notice again how pale Frodo seemed. The illness had taken a lot out of him. But if anyone could work a miracle with Frodo Baggins, it was Rose and Sam. 'The Shire needs more kind folk like Frodo,' Tom thought as they hitched the chestnut gelding pony to the two-seater carriage.  
  
The ride to the Puddlifoot farm was uneventful. Tom found Mrs. Puddlifoot and the Chillcots waiting for them beside the neatly trimmed roses lining the lane. Everyone expressed concern upon hearing of Master Baggins' illness, but seemed greatly relieved upon meeting young Frodo. While Tom was proudly shown about the tidy farm by the Chillcots, Frodo quietly had his private meeting with Mrs. Puddlifoot. The widow insisted they stay for lunch. She broke into tears at watching them leave, but the Chillcots stood by her side to render comfort.  
  
Tom heard a "Bless you, Master Baggins" come wafting on the warm afternoon breeze as they rounded the bend in the lane leading back to Bag End. Frodo- lad shrugged and said, "I'm often called that by the farmers. Force of habit, I guess."  
  
Nephew and Uncle rode in silence for awhile before Tom finally spoke. "Does your Uncle Frodo often give out money like that on your trips?"  
  
Frodo-lad looked into the distant fields before replying. "No. But he takes care of more folk than anyone in the Shire realizes. That wasn't exactly a hand-out. Uncle Fro talked to Old Farmer Puddlifoot a few years ago about putting some money aside for his wife in case he died. Uncle Fro agreed to be his banker and hold the money in trust. Now it's the only income Mrs. Puddlifoot has. Uncle Fro showed me the books last month. What he sent over today is one year's payout, plus some extra he sent himself from his own reserves. He's also arranged for the Chillcots to move in with Widow Puddlifoot and take care of her for the rest of her life."  
  
Tom grunted and nodded. "He's always been that way, lad. He learned how to be Master of Bag End from his uncle, Bilbo Baggins. Master Bilbo taught Master Frodo well." Tom turned to look at his young nephew. "And I think Master Frodo has also chosen his eventual successor well. Keep a nimble ear and a sharp mind and learn everything you can from your Uncle Fro. He's the wisest hobbit in the Shire, and probably the most kind. Save maybe for your mother and father who take care of him. Perhaps one day you might end up being the Master of Bag End." 


	6. Elanor and Rose

Chapter 6: Elanor and Rose

Chapter rating: PG  
  
The day was fine and full of bright sunshine and puffy white clouds. Rose and Elanor giggled and laughed as they rode in the Bag End pony cart towards Hobbiton. They were on their way to pick up the Gardner children from Aunt Marigold and Uncle Tom's house now that Uncle Frodo was better. The two-pony cart was necessary to carry back all the children, their clothes, and for whatever bales of hay were left over for the cows. The wagon creaked and popped as its wheels bounced over ruts and rocks in the well-traveled Bywater-Hobbiton section of the great East Road. The two ponies nickered to themselves at their good fortune of not having much to haul on this section of the road. Mother and daughter also relished the easy, quiet time to themselves; talking as if they hadn't a care in the world.  
  
The tiny brass bells tied to the ponies' harnesses made sweet counterpoint to the mother/daughter laughter. Elanor kept asking Rose to elaborate about the first time Rose and Sam met. The story about the shy little sandy-brown haired boy tagging along with his father to consult with Rose's own father over their potato crop became more and more detailed as the minutes ticked by.  
  
As the wagon approached the turnoff in the road leading to Cooperton farm, a young lad wearing straw-colored breeches and a homespun work shirt appeared at the front door and sauntered up to the white picket gate. He was a handsome boy of about nineteen, with curly brown hair and dancing hazel eyes, and a smile which would melt icicles in the middle of winter.  
  
"Morning Mrs. Gamgee," he called out, waving politely. "Hello Miss Elanor."  
  
"Marmaduke Cooperton, is that you?" Rose called out.  
  
"Yes mam," he smiled.  
  
"Why, you've grown at least an inch since last time I saw you," Rose smiled back. Rose had to elbow her daughter to speak before the silence became unacceptable. "Say good morning, Elanor," Rose sternly whispered.  
  
"Uh...Good morning Marmaduke," Elanor managed to stammer. Young Marmaduke's easy smile turned into a slight grin. He winked at Elanor, then sauntered back down the lane to go about his business.  
  
Rose turned to find her daughter blushing bright red from ear tip to ear tip. Rose shook her head and geed up the ponies to increase their pace slightly. The little bells jingled merrily as they rounded the bend in the road. The quiet blue pool of the Water could be seen, as well as its associated mill and the small gaggle of buildings surrounding the bridge. As soon as they were safely out of earshot Rose turned to her firstborn. "Well? Cat got your tongue?"  
  
Elanor only blushed harder and looked away.  
  
"All right, young lady. Out with it. What's between you and Marmaduke Cooperton?"  
  
Elanor sighed a tremendous sigh and wrung her hands. Rose almost lost her composure at the melodramatics going on, but managed to stifle her laughter. "Oh, Mother," Elanor whined. "Oh, Mother...It isn't what...I mean...Oh, I don't know what I mean. Um...Oh. Oh, I don't know."  
  
Rose looked straight ahead at the placid road to give her daughter a moment to collect herself. From the corner of her eye Rose could see even more hand-wringing. Rose looked sideways at her beautiful, but still terribly young daughter. Elanor had such a fair complexion that any blush could be seen for miles. "So, Elanor. What's going on between you two?"  
  
Elanor started chewing on her thumbnail – a habit she had picked up from her Uncle Frodo. "Oh, Mom!" Elanor sighed. An uncomfortable silence cloaked the cart like a shadow of a passing cloud.  
  
Rose wouldn't let the unanswered question lie. She kept glancing at Elanor, who continued to look anywhere except at her mother. She finally gave in.  
  
"We all promised not to tell," she blurted out.  
  
Rose let that one lie for awhile before answering. "Sweetheart, I'll not ask you to break a promise," she said, "but I need to know if you or he or any of your friends have done something which is bothering you now."  
  
There was another uncomfortable silence as Elanor weighted the potential consequences of her options. She finally sighed and turned to face her mother. "You promise to not tell Daddy or Uncle Fro?"  
  
"That depends upon what you tell me," Rose said. "But I want you to understand, Elanor, that no matter what you say, I love you. So does Sam- Dad and Uncle Frodo. We all love you and always will. Now, trust me to know what Daddy and Uncle should know and what is to be just between you and me." Rose moved the reins to one hand and took her daughter's hand in the other. "Do you trust me, sweetheart?"  
  
Elanor nodded while chewing on her lower lip. She took a deep breath and the words tumbled out helter-skelter.  
  
"Lissie and Briar-Rose and me were at Buttercup Overstock's birthday party a couple of weeks ago and all the cute boys from Bywater and some from Overhill were there and then Mamaduke and his cousin Folco who's eighteen came over and we were trying to guess who was the best dancer or the best kisser and then Lissie has the nerve to actually go up to Jackie Hornblower and tells him what we've been talking about and then he tells his cousin, Gingo Boffin, and then all the boys know and they come over and offer to show us how to do it proper even though Buttercup says they don't know either cause they're only fourteen, and then Belladonna Trotter from Pincup, well, she did it first with Folco, but then she said I was a scared little Miss know-nothing-in-my-blond-head and my parents never let me do anything fun or have any adventures of my own and we all promised to do it if we didn't tell anyone else and we crossed our fingers and turned around three times and swore on the Old Took's grave and so...so I...I did it with Marmaduke."  
  
"Did what exactly, dear?" Rose calmly said, though her heart was racing and her palms sweaty with imagination of the worse.  
  
"I kissed him," Elanor confessed. "And Mom! He...he said I didn't know the difference between kissing a boy and kissing a cow and he said he would teach me how to kiss properly and so...Ew! Mom. It was so horrible! He stuck his tongue in my mouth! Oh, there! I've said it. Why would he do that? Oh, Mom," Elanor desperately clutched at her mother's sleeve. "Will I have a baby because he did that?"  
  
Rose was almost fainting from a combination of relief and suppressed laughter, but managed to keep a straight face. "No, darling. You cannot become pregnant from enjoying an open-mouth kiss with a boy," Rose said in all seriousness. "I thought you knew how babies are made. I've been over that with you."  
  
Elanor sat on her hands, blushing again and looking into her lap. "I remember. It's just...Well, Lissie said you could too get a baby if you let a boy put his tongue in you. And, well...I...I couldn't remember. I feel stupid asking." She looked up at her mother. "Oh Mom, I'm SO glad you told me because I was SO worried! I wanted to ask you, but we all made that promise, and then Uncle Fro got sick and I sort of forgot about it..." She stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh! You're not going to tell Uncle Fro or Dad are you? Oh, please, Mom, don't tell them."  
  
Rose finally allowed the smile she had been suppressing to surface. "No, dear. This is between you and me. Girl-talk. We won't tell either of your fathers about this." Rose calmly turned the ponies so that they took the Northern branch of the road around the Water. "But Elanor, I do want you to understand something. You are only thirteen. That's far too young to be flirting with nineteen-year-olds. You need to listen to your heart and your head more than to the foolishness of certain friends. Your heart will tell you what is right and what is wrong."  
  
"How can I know the difference?" Elanor asked.  
  
"Use Sam-Dad and Uncle Frodo as guides for making choices. Ask yourself if what you are about to do would bring shame to them; then follow what your conscious tells you is for the best. Then you'll never have little secrets to hide from your family. Those little secrets kept inside eventually become known anyway."  
  
"Does that include the secret about Uncle Fro which Dad asked me to keep?" Elanor asked.  
  
'Ah. Caught in Sam's lie,' Rose thought. 'Trust a teenager to make you evaluate your own actions and beliefs.'  
  
"Elanor, your father was wrong to ask you to do that," Rose said. "But I'll ask you to continue to keep that secret until Sam-Dad and I can talk to Uncle Frodo about it. Will you do that for me?"  
  
"Yes, Mom."  
  
They went along in silence, the pony cart bumping and the pony's harness bells jingling a merry tune to compliment the myriad birdsongs from the bushes lining the lane. They passed the reflections of the Water, each lost in their own thoughts until Rose spoke up upon seeing Tom and Marigold's house in the distance.  
  
"Come on, sweet pea. Put on a happy face. We're about to see your brothers and sisters, and Auntie Marigold and Uncle Tom too. I'm going to let you break the good news about Uncle Frodo to them."  
  
Elanor's smile was brighter than the late morning sunshine. She was about to speak, when she was interrupted.  
  
"MOM! Merry! They're here! They're here!" Young Rose's excited voice floated across the breeze from down the lane. "They've put bells on the ponies! Everything's all right!"  
  
And everything was all right.


	7. Frodo

Chapter 7: Frodo Chapter rating: R (very mild slash and three-way)  
  
Frodo-lad was allowed to stay at Bag End after his trip to and from Overhill, rather than returning to Uncle Tom and Aunt Marigold's place. Uncle Frodo was feeling much improved. So much so, that Rosie and Elanor had already taken the work cart over to Hobbiton to retrieve the rest of the family. Frodo-lad was greatly relieved to see his Uncle Fro back at his worn wooden chair in the brightly-lighted study. The two sat and chatted about the Overhill estates for quite awhile in the stillness of the late afternoon air.  
  
Frodo could hear Sam's merry whistling from the kitchen garden on the west side of the Bag End gardens. 'Far too quiet, what with only three bachelors here,' Frodo thought as he dismissed Frodo-lad. Frodo was quite proud of his namesake. The boy had shown remarkable courtesy and thoughtfulness in dealing with a delicate situation. And he had politely thanked his Uncle Tom Cotton for not only helping him with his trip to Overhill, but also for letting the lad apprentice with him, if only for a few days. 'A clear head, good with numbers, and a quiet, thoughtful manner,' Frodo mused. 'I shall have to discuss with Sam about furthering his education. The boy could take over for me eventually.' Frodo was also secretly tickled to hear from Tom that Widow Puddlifoot had called the lad 'Master Baggins.' 'Bilbo would be proud, too,' he mused.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of children's laughter brought in from down the Hill. They were coming. He could hear Pippin's cry above the rest. "No! I wanna see him first!"  
  
"Nobody is going to get to see him until I say so, and that's that!" Rose's clear voice rang out. "Meriodoc Gardner! Get back here this instant! Stop tormenting the cows and take them to the barn. You're all to stay by the cart until I say so."  
  
"Daddy!" That shriek was Goldilocks. More cries of "Daddy!" from various small voices. "Hello, pumpkin!" That was Sam. "Everyone, follow me."  
  
Frodo picked up his tea cup and headed into the living room, steeling himself for the expected onslaught of excited children.  
  
Rose came into the living room, carrying two large vases filled with water. "I think you're going to need these," she said as she kissed him and set the vases on the fireplace hearthstone. "Sam's only going to let them come in two at a time. Don't worry. We won't let them overwhelm you."  
  
Frodo smiled in relief. "Let the party begin."  
  
Merry and Hamfast were the first in. Merry carried flaming red hollyhocks in one hand. Little Hamfast toddled in with a fist full of bright pink zinnias. "Dese for you, Uncle Fro," he lisped and thrust the slightly crushed flowers into Frodo's lap.  
  
"Thank you, Hammie," Frodo smiled and admired the flowers before putting them into a vase. He bent down and picked up the toddler, putting him in his lap. Hammie planted a very wet kiss on Frodo's cheek, then wiggled down.  
  
Merry kicked his toes on the rug while he waited his turn. As Hamfast left the room, Merry gave the hollyhocks to Frodo. "I'm glad you're feeling better."  
  
"I am too," Frodo said, admiring the huge flowers before putting them in the vase with the zinnias. "I missed you all. Did you have a good time over at Aunt Marigold's place?"  
  
Merry scowled. "No. I didn't have my toys and they don't read you stories before going to bed. And I had to sleep on the couch. I like it better here." He shifted his weight from one leg to another. "Can I go now?"  
  
Frodo smiled at the innocent honesty. "I'm glad all of you are back, Merry. We'll have plenty of stories later. You can send in whoever is next."  
  
Merry smiled. "Good." He started to leave the room, then thought better of it and ran back to Frodo, hugging him tightly before scampering out the door.  
  
Pippin and Goldilocks came in carrying yellow snapdragons and orange daylilies. "Daddy has lots of these," Goldilocks exclaimed as she presented the lilies to Frodo.  
  
"I know," Frodo replied. "I can see them from any window in the smial. Here, little golden girl. Climb up into my lap."  
  
"Me too," Pippin shouted, not wanting to miss anything.  
  
"Patience, little Pip," Frodo gently said as Goldie reached for his arms. "Put the flowers in the vases, please. Umph. You've grown bigger, Goldie."  
  
She giggled and gave Frodo a kiss. He returned the kiss to her plump rosy cheek, then set her down and picked up her older brother. Pippin immediately started fingering the brass buttons on his weskit. "I missed you, Uncle Fro."  
  
"I missed you too, Pip," Frodo smiled and gave the little boy a kiss atop his curls.  
  
Pippin looked at his uncle. "I dreamed you had died, but Auntie Mari said you wouldn't. Does it still hurt?"  
  
Frodo was surprised at the unexpected look of concern on the normally happy- go-lucky child's face. "I'm much better now, Pippin. Sometimes it still hurts a little, but not like it used to."  
  
Goldilocks played with the flowers in the vase, rearranging them to suit her sense of color. Pippin had undone a couple of buttons on his weskit. "Can I touch it?" he whispered, pointing to Frodo's left shoulder.  
  
Frodo shifted a little and unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt. He pulled back the fabric to let the little boy see the scar. "Go ahead," he gently said. "You can touch it. It doesn't hurt me anymore."  
  
Pippin cautiously placed a small index finger on the hard white scar tissue. Satisfied that it didn't hurt his uncle, he placed his whole palm over the scar.  
  
"See?" Frodo said. "It's just a scar now. Nothing to be afraid of."  
  
Pippin looked intently into Frodo's face, then decided everything was all right. The smile on his face let Frodo know that he had somehow allayed the lad's concerns. "I'm glad you're better," Pippin said as he climbed out of Frodo's lap and grabbed Goldie's hand.  
  
Rose and Daisy came in next, bearing white rose buds and cheerful yellow daisies. Rose-lass prompted little Daisy to hand over the flowers, but Daisy suddenly decided to keep them for herself.  
  
"You're supposed to give them to Uncle Fro," Rose sighed and rolled her eyes in frustration.  
  
"Mine!" Daisy pouted, crushing a petal or two.  
  
"There now, Daisy," Frodo gently said, "yes, they are yours. You may keep them. I have plenty of flowers already." He turned and smiled at Rose. "But I love seeing the prettiest Rose in the Shire again."  
  
Rose blushed and handed him her roses. "Sam-Dad let me pick out which rose to bring you. I hope you like them. Daddy says their from old Mister Bilbo's part of the garden."  
  
"They are indeed." Frodo brought the tiny white buds to his nose, deeply inhaling their sweet scent. "I think these are my favorite roses in the whole garden. Thank you." He leaned over and put them into the vase with the snapdragons. Frodo kissed Rose, but little Daisy was too absorbed in pulling the petals off her flowers to be bothered with kisses. Rose-lass sighed again and picked up her little sister, heading out of the room. Just as they reached the doorway, Daisy decided she had had enough of the flowers, and dropped them on the floor.  
  
"Bye bye," Daisy called out as they disappeared down the hallway.  
  
Frodo-lad came in carrying little Sammie. The lad had a tangle of purple and blue sweet pea vines. The baby was kicking excitedly. Frodo took Sammie from Frodo-lad and cooed at the infant. He was rewarded with a beatific smile and excited uncoordinated waving of chubby little fists. One managed to grab hold of his hair, painfully yanking the lock down towards Sammie's drooling mouth.  
  
"Ouch!" Frodo exclaimed, trying to pry his lock of hair out of Sammie's surprisingly strong grip. The baby would not let go, pulling harder instead. It took almost all of Frodo's strength to gently pry open the tiny fist and rescue his crushed curl.  
  
Frodo-lad chuckled and put his flowers in one of vases. "Sammie says he's glad to see you," the boy teased. "He's stronger than he looks, just like you." Frodo-lad retrieved his littlest brother from Frodo's arms. "Mom says dinner will be ready in about an hour. Would you like me to come get you then?"  
  
Frodo nodded. "Thanks, lad," he said as the brothers exited the room, pulling the door shut behind them. Frodo was left alone in the living room with two vases full of colorful and fragrant flowers. He was relieved the greetings had been accomplished with a minimum of chaos. 'Thank the stars Sam and Rose know how to manage a horde of excited children. I pity Marigold and Tom.'  
  
Family dinner was a joyous occasion. The children automatically went to their assigned locations on the benches around the long table, happy to be back at their own smial. Frodo moved to his accustomed position at the head of the table. Rose and Sam waited at the opposite end nearest to the stove and sink. Frodo knew Rose had talked with the children, since everyone was still standing as he slowly walked to his chair. He said not a word, but winked at Rose before sitting down. At that signal, everyone settled into their chairs or onto the long bench. And yet they still said nothing except for an occasional "Shush" from one of the girls. The quiet was strange and slightly uncomfortable.  
  
The silence was broken by baby Sammie letting out a shriek of happiness. Pippin and Daisy immediately got the giggles, causing Rose and Sam to also start laughing. Everyone laughed at finally being back together again. After the laughter and chatter faded, Frodo pulled himself up by gripping the sides of his chair.  
  
"A toast," he said, raising the filled wine goblet in front of his empty plate. "To family, my beloveds. Each and every one of you. Sam. Rose. Elanor. Frodo. Merry. Pippin. Goldilocks. Hamfast. Daisy. Sammie." He looked directly as Sam and winked. "And the new little girl to be."  
  
Sam stared at Frodo, then turned and stared at Rose, open mouthed. "Another?" he stammered. "So soon?"  
  
Rose blushed and nodded.  
  
"Oh goodie! I get a another baby sister!" Goldilocks exclaimed, clapping her hands in joy.  
  
"Baby!" Hammie squealed.  
  
"Ugh. Another girl," Merry muttered, crossing his arms and scowling.  
  
"Let's eat!" Pippin yelled as he waved an empty spoon in the air.  
  
"Yes, let's eat." Frodo smiled, drank a sip of wine and then sat down. "Pass the potatoes, please."  
  
Rose gave Frodo a look which would have withered a five-hundred year old oak tree. "I'll get you later, you scoundrel," she said, handing the still- flabbergasted Sam a plate of roasted chicken.  
  
After dinner Frodo retreated to his living room chair, carrying a cup of medicinal tea in one hand and a refilled goblet of wine in the other. He knew Rosie had brewed the noxious medicine especially strong to get back at him for announcing her pregnancy at the dinner table. But he thought the look on Sam's face was worth the punishment.  
  
Frodo-lad came into the living room, carrying toddler Daisy on one hip, followed by Merry, who led Pippin by the hand. The rest of the children filed in following Elanor, with the exception of Sammie who was with his mother. The children gathered about Frodo's feet, jostling for room and who could be closest.  
  
"Merry, come closer," Frodo said.  
  
Merry stood with his hands in his pockets before his uncle.  
  
Frodo tilted his head and squinted. "Let me see you smile."  
  
Merry's toes curled under in slight embarrassment at being singled out, but he smiled anyway, showing off a gaping hole where a front tooth had been. Pippin started giggling when Merry stuck part of his tongue out through the gap, causing its neighbor to wiggle.  
  
Frodo smiled and beckoned the lad to climb up in his lap. "Oh, my eyes are not much good anymore. I can't see a tooth where one used to be. Where did it go?"  
  
"It came out two days ago, Uncle Fro," Merry giggled. "Rose said a fairy would bring me a copper for it, but she didn't."  
  
"I think the fairy must have looked in the wrong house," Uncle Frodo solemnly said. "Maybe she looked here in your bedroom and couldn't find you."  
  
"Will she come back tonight?" Goldie asked.  
  
Frodo turned to Merry again. "Do you still have the tooth?"  
  
Merry shook his head, a tear coming to his eye. "I lost it."  
  
"We can fix that," Frodo gently said. "Frodo-lad, please bring Merry and me some paper and a charcoal." When the writing materials arrived, Frodo carefully wrote 'I, Frodo Baggins, do swear that this good boy, Meriodoc Gardener, lost a tooth two days ago.' He handed Merry the charcoal. "I've signed it. Now you sign it. Put your mark down below mine."  
  
Merry carefully drew a circle on the paper with the charcoal, then put a dot in the middle. Frodo had each child sign the document. For those too young to sign their names or make a mark, he rubbed charcoal over their thumbs and took a thumbprint. Then he carefully printed each child's name as a witness.  
  
He folded the paper and gave it to Merry. "Place this under your pillow tonight. I am certain with so many witnesses, the fairy will understand and will leave you that coin."  
  
Merry smiled and kissed Frodo on the cheek. He hopped off his lap. "I'm going to bed right now!" he exclaimed, and dashed out of the living room. "Mom! Look what Uncle Fro did..." could be heard down the hallway.  
  
"I believe it's time for all children to go to bed," Frodo said. He was tired. Very tired. But happy. The children took turns kissing him goodnight, then disappeared down the hallway and filed off into their bedrooms. Frodo knew they had been warned by Rosie to not bother him with whining for a bedtime story. At least, not yet. Maybe tomorrow he would restart his nightly duty. But not tonight. He was too tired.  
  
Night had finally fallen and the last rays of the sun had melted into the Western clouds. 'Should be clear tomorrow,' Frodo thought as he headed down the hallway and into the bedroom. Rose was already there, settling a sleeping Sammie into the well-worn crib. Soon he would be moved in to share a room with an older brother or two. But for now the five month old spent the night within easy reach of a parent or two. Or three.  
  
Sam entered the room and closed the door behind him. "The girls are too excited for sleep yet. Elanor's reading fairy tales to them. Maybe that will calm 'em down." He grunted as he unfastened his braces and removed his trousers. "You would think I'm the one pregnant, what with this belly and all."  
  
"Tush," Rose smiled, "'tis your own cooking. And besides, I like my husbands with a little meat on 'em."  
  
"Guess that leaves me out," Frodo countered as he also removed his clothes in preparation for sleep.  
  
"You don't get off that easy. Sam and I will soon have you filled out with a nice little round belly too." Rose came over and slipped into his waiting arms, giving him a quick kiss before turning around and lifting her hair. Frodo unlaced her bodice and snuck a quick kiss of his own on her exposed neck.  
  
"You must be feeling better," Sam laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt. "But you're slipping a little. It's not like you to make that sort of announcement in front of the children and all." He turned to Rose. "And why are you keeping your pregnancy a secret from me, Rose-love? Why tell Frodo but not me?" Sam sat on the little wooden stool beside the communal wash basin and began to scrub his feet. Rose was demanding about keeping the sheets clean.  
  
Rose stepped out of her skirt and roughly kicked it into a corner. "Don't you go blaming me for that little trick, Samwise Gamgee." She turned and snagged Frodo by his shirt tail. "And don't you try to get out of this by hiding behind my skirts, Frodo Baggins. I'm tired of this little game the two of you have been playing for years. You started it tonight. Now finish it. Tell Sam the truth."  
  
Sam stopped his ministrations and looked up at Frodo. "What?"  
  
Rose flopped onto the bed, naked and still slightly miffed. "Go on. Tell him. I'm not keeping your secrets any longer."  
  
Frodo joined her on the edge of the bed, gently stroking her leg. His lips tightened and then relaxed as he turned to face Sam. "I'm the one who told Rose about her pregnancies, Sam. I've been able to see all of them long before she knows."  
  
Sam continued to wash his feet. "Doesn't really surprise me," he quietly said. "I've suspected that you can predict the future for some time now."  
  
Frodo was stunned. "I thought...I didn't know you knew. What tipped you off?"  
  
"Sometimes you get the same look on your face as when we looked into the Lady Galadriel's mirror," Sam said as he toweled his feet dry. "Then within a week or so Rose tells me she's pregnant. Same pattern's happened six times now. Can't be lucky guesses. I figured you'd tell me when you thought it right. Lots of strange things happen when you deal with Elvish folk, and you and the Lady seemed to have some sort of understanding when she gave you that blessing. But we both know seeing the future ain't the same thing as it coming true. That's why I figured you were reluctant to tell me."  
  
Frodo bowed his head. "You are right. The future is never certain. There are always possibilities which escape our limited ability to see. That's why I very seldom tell anyone about what I think is going to happen."  
  
"But you told Rose about the pregnancies," Sam said.  
  
"Not all of them," Rose suddenly spoke. "Frodo, why didn't you warn me about the miscarriages?"  
  
Frodo looked at her, tears shining in his eyes. "I couldn't see them. I had no idea about them. I'm sorry, Rose, but I just didn't know. And I was so unsure about little Sammie that I hesitated for weeks. Perhaps it is not for me to see my own future. Perhaps it is better for all involved if I never mention my visions again."  
  
Sam came over and stroked Frodo's curls. "I don't think you should keep it all shut inside. After all, it's a gift bestowed on you by the Lady. I think you should use the gift." Sam looked sideways at Frodo. "Wait a minute. You've been using this gift all along, haven't you?"  
  
Frodo didn't say anything. Rose sat up and wrapped him in her arms.  
  
Sam forced the two of them to scoot over and let him also sit on the bed. He shook a finger at Frodo. "No more secrets. Out with it. Have you ever known that something was going to happen; something bad, and then took matters into your own hands to change the future? Cause I think you have."  
  
Frodo looked quite uncomfortable. "Yes," he finally whispered.  
  
"When?" Rose asked.  
  
"There's been a couple of times when I've envisioned Bag End burning," he said quietly. "Burning from the inside out. Those times I cancel trips away from the smial so I could be here when needed."  
  
Sam sighed, crawled past the two and lay down on his side of the bed.  
  
"The time Frodo-lad accidentally set fire to the wardrobe?" Rose asked.  
  
Frodo nodded. "I placed large vases of water in every room of the smial that week. I didn't know exactly where the fire would start, or what would be the cause, but I tried to be prepared."  
  
"So that's why you suddenly took an interest in my roses," Sam smiled and shook his head. He leaned over, pulled Frodo down onto the bed and kissed him. "Very clever, Mister Baggins. But then, you've always been very, very clever."  
  
Rose also lay down. "They say confessions are good for the soul, and we've been hearing quite a few confessions tonight. Sam, it's time you told Frodo your secret."  
  
Now it was time for Frodo's eyebrows to raise in surprise. "What secret?"  
  
Sam sank back into his pillow and looked at the ceiling. "Well, um, me and Elanor, well, um, we've seen you...I mean...I think the two of us can see you glowing sometimes."  
  
"Glowing?" Frodo asked. "Like that time in Rivendell when Gandalf said I was getting transparent?"  
  
"Yes," Sam said. "It's three times now I've seen the glow on you. All three times when you've been very ill. This time Elanor saw it too."  
  
"Oh stars," Frodo whispered. "I hope I didn't frighten her too badly."  
  
"She thought you were a ghost," Rose said, "but Sam explained it to her. Don't worry, she's not afraid of you. I think she understands."  
  
Frodo looked at Sam. "It was after my bath three days ago when I was sitting in the chair in the boys' room, wasn't it?"  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
"You've known about it all along, haven't you?" Rose asked, her keen eyes locked onto Frodo.  
  
This time it was Frodo's turn to nod. "If I look at my hand, it's almost as if I can see through it. But after I close my eyes for a few minutes and clear my head a bit, the thin feeling dissipates and I think I'm back to normal. I don't particularly like the feeling, though it is strangely comforting and warm. Sometimes I want to relax into it and disappear altogether. But something in me won't let me go into that comfort." Frodo sighed. "Oh well. That's the way things are with me now. I can no more change that than I can change the color of my eyes. I'm surprised that you never told me that you knew, Sam."  
  
A faint blush spread across Sam's tanned cheeks. "I didn't know that you knew about it. I mean...you of all people deserve to have a normal, peaceful life here with those you love. I didn't want to jeopardize that by pointing out yet another weird thing to you about yourself. I was afraid you would leave us. I'm sorry."  
  
Frodo reached over to stroke the sandy curls. "It's all right, Sam. I know how different I am. But I've come to accept the changes. Maybe a few years ago I might have opted out; left Middle Earth altogether and gone to live with the Elves. But not now. Not now that you two have shown me such love and healing as I didn't know existed anywhere; not even in Tol Eressea. How could I leave you and Rose and the children? Why, I would have missed playing the role of the tooth fairy."  
  
"What?" Rose asked. "Who lost a tooth this time?"  
  
"Merry," Frodo smiled and rolled out of bed. He went over to his wardrobe, put on his nightshirt and retrieved a copper penny. "I'll be right back."  
  
He returned in a short while, draped the nightshirt over the back of a chair, and climbed back into bed between Sam and Rose. The three snuggled into their accustomed arrangement, limbs tangled and twined about each other in a way only the three would ever find comfortable. Sam pulled the light sheet over Frodo as Rose pushed her corner of the sheet away. Sam blew out the lone candle and darkness descended.  
  
"So. I've confessed to a secret, and so has Frodo," Sam's quiet voice disturbed the silence. "Don't hold back, Rose."  
  
"Me?" the sleepy reply came amidst a yawn. "I have no secrets."  
  
"Of course you do," Frodo whispered and wiggled his back into her arms, sighing as her breasts slid in silken mounds against his naked skin.  
  
"I keep other people's secrets," she said as her right arm snaked across Frodo's waist and her hand began caressing his chest. "I have no secrets of my own any more. Can't keep a secret in the Shire with Sammie's looks giving me away."  
  
Sam chuckled and moved in closer to Frodo. His hand reached out and found those of his wife. After a brief caress, Sam's hand continued down beneath the covers and stroked Frodo's hip.  
  
Frodo chuckled with his eyes closed. "Children. Can't wait till they're teenagers. Oh, how many secrets will you keep then, Rosie?"  
  
"As many as I deem fit," she replied. "It's part of being a mother. Now go to sleep, Sam, and stop playing with Frodo. He needs his rest."  
  
"I'll stop playing with him if you stop playing with him," Sam grumbled, but then let his hand rest against both of their flesh. "Goodnight, Rose- love. Goodnight Frodo."  
  
"'Night," came the hazy reply. Silence and stillness returned to the bedroom. Frodo could already hear the quiet little snoring of Rose behind him. Sam's joined hers after a few minutes. Frodo lay still in the dark warmth, terribly content. His last thoughts before sweet sleep overcame him were of Elanor. A grown up Elanor standing on a grassy hillside looking West. Looking towards the Sea, waving, and smiling. 


End file.
